


Bonsoir chère maman

by tritonvert



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, French Revolution RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tritonvert/pseuds/tritonvert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1832.  Shameless sentiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonsoir chère maman

So I hear that there was an uprising.  I know we old people always say “in my day we managed it better,” but really—really.  The papers tell me it was a handful of schoolboys, wild idealists, doomed to failure, unrepresentative of the people; but Adèle pointed out suddenly that I of all people should know better than to believe anything I see in a paper.  She also said that she wished she had been there.  Unkind, sometimes, one’s children.

Maybe instead of better revolutionaries we had worse, back then, and that’s what worked.  After all, one had Orléans with his money, Mirabeau with his stage presence, Lafayette with his white horse.  (Mirabeau—I’ve heard enough about Mirabeau to last a very long life-time.  Camille of course grew very bitter sometimes, looking back at the people who paid for 1789, but at least it was a revolution that lasted more than one night.)

Oh, I don’t know.  Sometimes, very rarely, someone will ask me to explain about Camille, explain about 1789.  They generally begin with something fulsomely deferential, or else a too-hearty “Grandmother” and then they tell me how lucky Camille was in his wife. They don’t want to hear a cogent analysis, so I haven’t developed one. 

Where was I?  Oh—yes, Adèle had said she wished she had joined in this little insurrection.  It was some time later, after supper, that I started laughing and she asked me rather tartly if the hot weather had gone to my head. 

—We should have both gone.

—Gone?

—To your barricade, Adèle.  Don’t you think?  There must have been some women there.  All those tough factory girls, and the law-students must have had some sweethearts along for a lark.  Oh, don’t look shocked, Adèle, I have met some law students in my day.

—It’s a good thing no one is here to listen to you, Mother.  Talking about rubbing elbows with wild Republicans and their shameless girlfriends.  But…still.  How Lucile would have made fun of it all.  “Pass some ammunition, Old Maid!”

—“Mind the bullets, Granny!”  Yes…she would have laughed.  Those poor boys.  They should have asked us old veterans.

—We should have thought to go.  We old veterans. 

  
That’s nonsense, of course.  I raised two revolutionaries (by the end, Camille really did seem like a son to me), and raised another child as far from revolution as I could, and what good did any of that do?  Lucile would have laughed at this sudden fancy.  Two old ladies playing at rebellion.  Well.  Good night, Adèle; good night, Lucile.

**Author's Note:**

> Annette Duplessis, mother of Lucile Desmoulins, died in 1834, having outlived not only her daughter but her grandson. Her other daughter Adèle died in 1863. Annette preserved the correspondence and various other items of Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, including Lucile's last letter, written before her execution:
> 
> "Bonsoir chère maman, une larme s'echappe de mes yeux, elle est pour toi. Je vais m'endormir dans le calme de l'innocence."


End file.
